


Dear Father

by geekchic64



Series: Sin [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Church Sex, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, because why have friends if you don't write them gay porn every once in a while
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6359782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekchic64/pseuds/geekchic64
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke goes to confession to tell of her many sins.</p><p>AKA you've heard of Daddy!Lexa, now get ready for Father!Lexa</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Father

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucifour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifour/gifts).



> Hi yes hello this is my awkward first attempt at writing smut.  
> I apologize in advance for the horrible tenses.  
> Enjoy! X(XX)

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Clarke muttered as she pulled her coat tighter around her. It was a chilly November afternoon, and the wind was strong through the city. Her heels clacked on the sidewalk until she finally arrived at her destination.

Clarke paused to look up at the towering building. The artist in her immediately fell in love with the detailed architecture and vibrant stain glass windows. She ignored the uneasy feeling in her stomach, and marched towards the ornate doors.

The inside of the church was, well, it was beautiful. The candle light was reflected in the dark wood that composed most of the inside. She heard deep and slow music playing from above her, and she couldn’t help but allow her eyes to slip closed at the sound.

Even though she had never been one to actively go to church – or even go out of her way to go to church – she automatically felt at ease here.

Clarke dunked her fingers in the holy water and quickly made the sign of the cross. She slowly made her way down the empty pews towards the confession box. She tried to keep from blushing at how loud the sounds of her heels echoed through the otherwise quiet church.

Stopping outside of the wooden booth, she took a deep breath.

“You can do this,” Clarke whispered to herself, before finally opening the box and stepping inside.

 _It’s darker than I thought it would be_.

(She sure she’ll come to appreciate the lack of bright lights later.)

She took a seat and looked over at the screen separating her and the priest.

 _I’m probably going to give the old man a heart attack_.

She cleared her throat and hesitantly began.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” She takes a deep breath and smooths out her dress. “My last confession was… Well, it was a while ago, if we’re being honest here,” She hears soft laughter from the other side of the booth and it encourages her to continue. “I don’t usually… Go to church. My dad… Well, my dad died a few years ago and I guess I just… Lost my faith when I lost him. But,” she says as takes another deep breath, “my friend told me about this church. And how things are… Different. You’re more – well, she said you’re more accepting here.”

Clarke thinks back to when she confided in her friend Raven. The girl had listened to Clarke rant for a good hour, before suggesting maybe a change of scenery would be beneficial. And, in fact, she occasionally goes to this one church that was a little on the “unorthodox” side. Raven said that Clarke would really love it.

And because everything was going wrong in her life, Clarke decided, what the hell.

(She just hoped it wouldn’t be literal Hell.)

So here she was now, sitting in a dim booth, about to confess her sins and everything that’s been troubling her.

But it wasn’t until the priest on the other side of the screen replied to her, that Clarke fully understood just how unorthodox this church really was.

“Well, let me begin by thanking you for coming out today. It takes courage to step out of your comfort zone and be completely honest about it.”

And, yeah, okay, so maybe there _wasn’t_ an old man on the other side of the screen. Because that _voice_? Definitely not an old man.

Nope.

It was woman. Probably around Clarke’s age. And, _fuck_ , if that voice didn’t grab Clarke’s attention.

“Please thank your friend for recommending us to you,” – oh she definitely would be – “we try keeping our doors open for every walk of life. And as for being a slightly more unorthodox church, your friend would also be correct in that sense. As you can tell, I’m not your average, every day priest,” and Clarke can’t help but laugh along.

“Yeah, that one definitely took me by surprise.”

“That is understandable,” came the reply. Clarke leaned forward in her seat to try and study the profile of the woman through the screen. She could barely make out long hair and a _very_ nice profile.

 _Oh damn that jawline_.

“However,” the priest – Father? – Mother? – continued, “I believe that we are all God’s children. He loves us all equally, for He created us all equally. I do not believe He would turn his back or shun someone simply for being who He created them to be. So sometimes that means speaking to a woman priest. Slightly unorthodox, but accepted ever the same.”

Clarke felt herself relaxing as she listened to the other woman speak. Her voice was steady, strong, and sure; it was a voice that had Clarke aching to find out who it belonged to.

“So, tell me, what brings you here today?”

Clarke crosses her legs, making her dress ride up slightly.

“Well… Well my _problem_ – my… my sin?” Clarke shakes her head and ignores the slight blush burning her cheeks. “Well, it’s a bit … _unorthodox_ itself.”

The woman hums on the other side.

“Don’t be afraid to speak your mind, no matter how unorthodox,” the woman offers kindly. “God is understanding and forgiving. But the first step is forgiving yourself.”

“Right… Okay, well,” Clarke takes a deep breath. “For starters, I’m bisexual.” And she waits for the woman on the other side of the screen to start screaming scripture passages at her, to tell her to get out of the church, that she was going to burn in Hell. And the other woman must have sensed it in her pause, because she laughed softly.

“It’s alright. Like I said, God knew what He was doing when He created us.”

“Yes, right, of course,” Clarke smiles. “Okay, so I’m bi – but that’s not really my problem. It’s, um… Well, it’s the um…” Clarke struggles to finish her thought.

“Unorthodox, remember,” the priest encourages her. Clarke nods and rubs up and down her crossed leg.

“Well, to be frank Father, it’s the sex.”

A pause.

“And what about the sex?”

And, suddenly, it’s as if any inhibitions Clarke once held, any feelings of uneasiness or anxiousness… Just disappears. She leans back against the wooden booth, and she feels comfortable.

“It sucks. And not even the good kind of sucking, either. Because there is a good kind, you know.” But it makes Clarke pause. “You do know, right? I know you aren’t like a regular priest, but are you also, you know, an abstinent virgin?” Clarke slams her eyes shut. “Sorry,” she backpedals, “that was completely crossing a line.”

But the other woman only laughs and reassures her.

“You are fine. It would be unfair if I expected you to confess what has been plaguing you, and yet you could not ask me questions in return. And to answer your question, I do, in fact, know what you mean. There are many… benefits to being unorthodox.”

Clarke feels herself flush.

“I understand,” she mutters. Her mind, which was once _plagued_ by her troubles, was suddenly plagued by some other sinful thoughts. Clarke can feel herself getting hot, the small confession box suddenly like a sauna. “Excuse me for a moment,” she says as she begins to struggle out of her coat.

“Of course. Your comfort is very important.”

Clarke places her discarded coat on the floor and sits back down. She feels better – she doesn’t feel like she’s about to suffocate anymore. She doesn’t feel like she’s about to crawl out of her own skin.

“So… The sex?” Clarke is prompted.

“Right, the sex. It’s horrible. Like, it’s so horrible, and so _frustrating_ , it’s effecting my everyday life. It’s actually turning me into a bitch – oh _shit_ – oops – sorry, I didn’t mean,” but she’s cut off with a laugh.

“Cursing is okay. The main goal of confession is to release what has been troubling you. Do not censor yourself. You can be completely yourself here, absolutely no judgment.”

So Clarke continues.

“But yeah, it’s horrible. _I_ am horrible. To my friends. My mom. My coworkers. And – listen. I love sex. I’m _good_ at sex. Like, really good. I don’t like bragging, but there are just some things you can’t _not_ brag about. And I’m used to a _lot_ of good sex. But… I can’t help but feel like that broke me, in a way. And like, not even the good kind of broken from sex.” Clarke tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear before continuing. “I honestly couldn’t even tell you the last time I came.”

“Have you found the right partner?”

Clarke switches her crossed legs and thinks back on the last few months.

“I did. A few of them. And when we would have sex, it would be amazing. But then it just… stopped for me. I would still feel pleasure from them, but just not that release. I told them not to worry about it, that I would focus on them, but that was months ago. I am so fucking frustrated I’m scared that if the wind blows the wrong way it’ll leave me a quivering mess.”

And Clarke doesn’t even care that she’s saying all of these things to a complete stranger. She doesn’t care that she’s in _church_ saying all of these things.

Because, dammit, she is so incredibly sexually frustrated she doesn’t care _who_ knows at this point.

“Well, if the problem is not with your partners, than do you think it’s you? Have you tried clearing your mind of anything that might be keeping you from your release? Perhaps meditating would benefit you?”

But Clarke just sighs and shakes her head.

“I’ve tried that. I’ve tried _going_ to yoga classes, I’ve tried _watching_ yoga videos on YouTube. I’ve practically bought every type of tea there is and I’ve listened to every kind of white noise in existence. My mind is totally clear.”

“Then perhaps it is a physical block.”

And the words, spoken by that smooth voice, makes Clarke’s stomach turn again. But the coiling isn’t from nerves this time.

_Oh… fuck…_

“What are you suggesting?” Clarke chokes out.

“I understand that sometimes the body needs help with stimulation. Have you tried using a vibrator?”

Clarke closes her eyes and bits her lip.

“Yes,” and her voice is admittedly lower and there’s not a thing she can do about it. “I’ve tried different types of them, too. And nothing. But, god…” she whispers, eyes still closed, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean –“

“- It’s fine. Please, go on,” and Clarke barely opens her eyes and smirks over to the screen. Because the voice on the other side, which has been so smooth and controlled the entire time, is suddenly clipped. Clarke uncrosses her legs and pulls her dress up a little further.

“The vibrators feel so good, though. They do. I use them for long periods of time – sometimes even hours – and I touch myself, but still: I can’t make myself cum.”

There’s a pause this time before a reply is offered.

“Well,” and Clarke licks her lips at how throaty the other woman has become. “Why don’t you… Walk us through what normally happens, and we can see if we can work anything out.”

Clarke smirks at the thinly veiled suggestion.

“Of course. After all, you are the one in charge here,” Clarke answers.

Clarke shifts in her seat; her thighs rub together, and she has to bite her lip to keep from making any noise. The throbbing in between her legs is strong enough that she can’t ignore it anymore.

“When I start touching myself, I start,” but she is cut off.

“No,” and it’s so short and so clipped. There is a pause before the other woman continues softly, “start at the very beginning. Where are you, what are you wearing?”

Clarke closes her eyes and lets her hand drift over her exposed thighs.

“I’m in my room, at my apartment. I’m alone – both of my roommates are out for the night. I don’t have to worry about noise. I can be as loud as I want,” Clarke licks her lips and breathes out, “and I plan on being very… very loud.” Clarke hears a shuddering breath from the other side of the screen and softly caresses the inside of her left thigh – steadily moving higher.

“The room is dark, save for the lamp next to my bed. It creates a nice glow in the room. I stand next to my bed, and I slowly strip, until I’m left only in my underwear. I leave them on.”

Clarke is once again cut off by the other woman.

“And what does it look like. Do you - … do you feel sexy in it?”

Clarke hums as her hand travels up even higher under her dress.

“Black lace. And yes, I do feel very sexy in it. And in fact,” Clarke can feel her heat, can feel how damp she has made herself, “I’m wearing it right now.”

Clarke is sure she can hear the other woman gulp.

“… Go on,” she pushes.

“I lay down in the bed, and I start to softly touch myself. I trail my hands up and down my body – up, and down… up… and down… feeling how soft I am…” Clarke trails off as her hands mimic her words. She is thankful she wore a dress today.

“And then I focus on my breasts. My nipples are so hard by now, begging to be touched. To be kissed. To be sucked.”

Clarke closes her eyes as her left hand circles her very hard nipple through her dress.

“I’m so sensitive there. Oh _fuck_ ,” she gasps as she pinches her own nipple. “It feels… so good.”

“Do you like it, when people focus on your breasts? Tell me, does it make you wet?”

Clarke can’t help it, but she moans at the question.

“So fucking wet. _God,_ it makes me so wet,” she rubs her thighs together trying to create any sort of friction.

“Tell me more,” the voice is deep and demanding and Clarke can’t help but follow through.

“And then I move down my body. Over my stomach. Over my soaked underwear. I skim over my thighs. I think of when people have kissed them. I think of the bruises I’ve had on the insides of my thighs. My pale skin, covered with colorful marks – evidence of me getting fucked.”

Clarke pushes her dress up and over her hips, until she is sitting in just her underwear. She traces her thighs again before trailing up her underwear.

“I move my hands up until I’m touching myself. I cup myself, and _God_ , I’m so wet. I’m so wet, and hot, and I’m throbbing underneath of my hand. I rub myself over the fabric and the friction feels so good,” Clarke trails off with a moan as her hand does just that.

“At this point, I can’t take it anymore. I have to touch myself. I have to, I have to…” Clarke slips her hand under the waistband of her underwear and the moan she releases echoes around the box.

“Are you bare? Tell me, do you shave yourself? Do you get waxed, knowing people will be seeing yourself? Open and exposed, begging for their touch?”

Clarke works her middle finger against her throbbing clit as the other woman speaks to her.

“Trimmed,” she gasps out. “I’m, oh fuck, I’m trimmed,”

“Are you touching yourself right now? Are you circling your clit as you imagine someone fucking you? As they pound in and out of you, grabbing you so tight you bruise? Or are you imagining them bending down, and sucking your clit? Are you imagining them licking you, licking deep inside of you?”

Clarke rubs faster at her clit and slowly inserts a finger.

“Oh, fuck, yes…” She bites her lip so hard, she’s sure she’ll start bleeding soon. But it does absolutely nothing to stop the moans that tear through her.

“Which is it? Are you thinking of someone fucking you, deep inside of you? Or are you thinking of someone sucking on your clit? Tell me, which one?”

“Sucking,” Clarke gasps. “I’m thinking of someone sucking on my clit,” she inserts a second finger, her pace becoming slightly faster.

“Are you thinking of me?”

“ _Fuck.”_

“Are you thinking of me fucking you right now? Are you thinking of me circling your clit with my tongue as my fingers slowly pump in and out of you? Are you thinking of yourself dripping all over my hand, making a mess? Are you imagining me reaching up your body to pinch your nipples? To tease you, to make you moan underneath of me? Are you imagining looking down and seeing me staring up at you from in between your legs? Tell me, do you wish it was me fucking you right now? Tell me.”

“Oh fuck, oh fuck _yes_ – yes, fuck me, _please_ ,”

Clarke hears a moan from the other side of the screen and it makes her eyes slam shut.

She can feel the pressure begin to build. Her hips cant against her hands, begging for _more_ and Clarke furiously pumps and circles as fast as she can. She is openly moaning and feels sweat begin to cover the back of her neck. Her thighs shake.

“Oh _fuck_ – I’m so close. Yes, yes, oh fuck…”

“Are you going to cum? Are you going to cum on your own fingers, wishing they were mine? Wishing I was there to lick up how wet you are?”

“Oh _God_ ,” Clarke grunts. She is so fucking close. “Your name – _ah_ – what is,” she gasps, “what is your name?”

And the other woman tells her. And her voice is deep and husky, and Clarke can feel herself about to tumble over the edge. She can feel herself spasm underneath of herself. Can feel her walls tightening around her finger. And it’s her name – her _name_ – that finally pushes her over.

“ _Lexa,”_ she cries as she comes. And she comes violently, she comes shaking, and screaming. She comes gasping, still moving her fingers against her clit, still pumping her fingers inside of herself. She comes and she can’t breathe, can’t think of anything else other than,

_Lexa, Lexa, Lexa._

Slowly, she calms down. Slowly, her legs stop twitching, her clit stops throbbing. Slowly, she pulls her fingers out of herself.

Slowly, she licks her fingers clean.

She chuckles as she wipes her fingers against her thigh.

“Well, _fuck_ ,” she sighs. “That was…”

“I agree,” Lexa groans from the other side.

The air inside of the box is thick and smells very clearly of sex. And it only makes Clarke want to go for round two.

But she’s in a confession box in church. And she just had one of the biggest orgasms of her life thanks to a random priest talking her through it.

“Unorthodox, indeed,” Clarke laughs and Lexa joins her.

“I told you,” they take a minute to catch their breath. “Although, by the sounds of it, we seemed to have solved your problem.”

Clarke licks her lips and leans her head against the wall.

“Fuck yes we did.”

Clarke hears Lexa clear her throat.

“I’m … Glad I could help. Besides, the Lord would have wanted me to help you,” and Clarke can hear the smirk in her voice.

“Oh, fuck you,” Clarke rolls her eyes – but smiles either way.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who just fucked you,” and it makes Clarke _groan_.

(Seriously, that round two is so very tempting.)

“Well, I definitely appreciate it,” Clarke replies. She slowly shimmies her dress down until she is once again covered. “I think… I think I need to go home now. I have a lot of catching up to do.”

Clarke hears Lexa chuckle, “Of course.”

Clarke leans down to pick up her coat, but pauses before putting it on. She bites her lip as she contemplates.

“Although, I have to say, for my first confession in years, it definitely was … _educational_. Who knows, maybe I’ll be back next week.”

She sees Lexa’s profile shift through the screen.

“I think that would be very helpful for you.”

Clarke smirks. “Me too.” She slips on her coat, smooths down her dress and hair, and stands on shaky legs.

“Lord knows I’ll probably have many sins to share next time."

**Author's Note:**

> OOP
> 
> I'll be dying at whatwordsmiss.tumblr.com


End file.
